


So For Now A Last Farewell

by QuickSilverFox3



Series: Mag7 Summer Swagbag Challenge [3]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boats and Ships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fairy Tale Curses, M/M, Mer!Goodnight, Mutual Pining, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24369712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickSilverFox3/pseuds/QuickSilverFox3
Summary: Billy still waits for Goodnight, abides by the rules of the agreement he made to keep him alive. So why hasn't he returned?-The night air was a balm on his fevered skin, moon hanging heavy and full in the sky. He should go back inside and curl up on his bed that was too large for just him — waking up sweat soaked in the night, reaching out into the void with the taste of salt on his lips and tears stinging at his eyes.“Where are you Goodnight?” Billy whispered into the darkness, knowing his question would go unanswered.
Relationships: Billy Rocks & Jack Horne, Goodnight Robicheaux/Billy Rocks, Red Harvest & Billy Rocks
Series: Mag7 Summer Swagbag Challenge [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789006
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18
Collections: Mag7 Summer Swagbag Challenge





	So For Now A Last Farewell

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mag7 Swagbag Theme prompt: ‘Old flame’. This was originally only going to be a 1k fic and then it got away from me

“Here!”

Billy squinted into the setting sun, one hand raised to shield his eyes, sunlight reflecting off the water in a shifting kaleidoscope of patterns. The man on the dock moved out onto his own houseboat, one hand sliding along the railing as he moved closer to Billy, the boat swaying beneath his feet. With the other, he stretched out towards Billy.

“Thanks, Horne,” Billy called, voice sounding strange to his ears, a far cry from the constant rumble of engines he was used to hearing — a low growl beneath his feet, reverberating through his bones in constant motion. Even in the silence of early mornings, or the hush of dark nights, he strained his hearing, aching to hear anything but the quiet of a thousand living things that were so alien to him.

The rope seemed to hang suspended between them for just a moment, Billy already moving before it landed in Horne’s hands. His back twinged in silent protest as he swung back through the open window, feet slipping slightly in the pool of water gathering on the floor. His heart slammed against his ribs, a brief moment of panic threatening to overwhelm him before he steadied himself. 

The engine stopped at his touch, Horne grunting as he pulled on the rope, boat easily moving through the water. Billy needed to move, to slip out of the other side and move along the side, steadying the boat as it moved into the gap; but he found himself frozen. Numbly, he touched the water, and brought it to his lips, tasting salt. 

“You okay there Billy?” Horne called as Billy reappeared on the other side, one hand running along the railing.

“Never better,” Billy replied, mind a thousand miles away with the shriek of seagulls high overhead, salt almost overpowering in the air, and a cold scaled hand in his.

⁂

“Wasn’t sure if we would see you this year,” Horne said, his tone carefully light as he sat down next to Billy with a groan, his knees cracking as he moved.

“I wasn’t sure myself,” Billy answered, tearing his gaze away from the water. The taste of salt lingered on his lips, and he found himself prodding at his bottom lip with his tongue even though the wounds caused by Goodnight’s teeth had healed many years ago. The moon, full and beautiful, cast twisting shadows over the water, dark, endless and deadly. 

He accepted the beer, label faded and rough beneath his fingers, tapping it against Horne’s before taking a long drink. His thoughts were muddled, the conversations around him moving too fast for him to concentrate on — Horne’s youngest, Red, was nearly a handspan taller than Billy now, shoulders curled and nose buried in his phone, but the eldest, Vasquez, talked as lightning quick as ever, face open and honest, teasing his brother as he watched the small portable grill.

The same few snatches of memories played behind his eyes on repeat — the wood of the boat, warm beneath his bare feet; Goodnight’s skin against his, cold but he only pressed himself closer; lightning splitting the sky open; and the cloying feeling of water choking down his throat.

“Your boys are looking happy,” Billy said, shaking off the fog of the past, taking another sip of the beer.

“They are,” Horne agreed, voice soft and warm. 

Billy had, in a way, watched Horne’s boys grow up in snapshots, the explosions of growth happening when they were separated for the rest of the year, an unlikely friendship forged on accidental meetings year after year until it slipped into friendly familiarity, and the fact that Billy fished Vasquez out of the water three times didn’t hurt either. 

“I’m glad you came around this year, Billy,” Horne said with a sigh, climbing unsteadily back to his feet, “See you in the morning.”

Billy waved a goodbye, staring down into the black water, fancying he could see shapes twisting through the water. He had — with unwavering accuracy that was normally a benefit to his life — sat in the pool of water on the edge of his boat, soaking into his trousers immediately and sending goosebumps down his spine. The night air was a balm on his fevered skin, moon hanging heavy and full in the sky. He should go back inside and curl up on his bed that was too large for just him — waking up sweat soaked in the night, reaching out into the void with the taste of salt on his lips and tears stinging at his eyes.

“Where are you Goodnight?” Billy whispered into the darkness, knowing his question would go unanswered.

⁂

Billy was on a boat, seagulls shrieking high overhead. They swirled and danced in intricate patterns, sometimes dipping down so suddenly that they seemed to disappear from the cloud covered sky. He swayed slightly, buffeted by the gentle rocking of the sea, waves knocking against the side of the boat, and yet the water was clear and calm, unbroken as far as he could see.

He turned, unable to do anything else, moving in response to invisible strings tugging at his limbs, and Goodnight was sitting in the boat next to him.

Billy knew it was a dream, knew it was the dream of a memory, and he knew how it would end and yet—

His heartbeat a little faster in his chest and Billy leant closer, staring up into Goodnight’s eyes, seeing his pupils constrict into cat-like slits before they expanded, blotting out the blue to a tiny sliver around a sea of black.

Goodnight’s lips moved, but no words escaped him, only the distant roar of a gathering storm. Between one blink and the next, he vanished and Billy fell into the freezing water. He knew it was pointless to struggle, and yet he saw his hands move towards the light, clawing at the water as he sunk down further and further. Hands grasped his, talons cutting into his wrists, water turning black with his blood—

Billy woke, scream trapped in his throat, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead and his thin sheets to his body. Coughs racked his body, spots dancing in front of his eyes, as he tried to breathe through lungs that still held the memory of drowning so closely. Minutes passed, though they felt like hours, and Billy slowly climbed out of his bed, head pounding like a drum beat. 

He paused in the doorway, leaning against the wood, and listening, hoping he hadn’t woken anyone else up. The night was quiet, boat swaying slightly beneath his feet, the slap of water rhythmic and soothing against the side like the distant beating of a heart. A glance at his watch — a heavy thing, waterproof and almost indestructible — confirmed the time was too early to be awake, and yet Billy knew, from the twisting of his stomach and the restless energy moving through his legs, he would not be getting anymore sleep that night.

Rising onto his toes, he padded silently into the main room, navigating through memory and the pale light of moon peeking out through the clouds. His thoughts turned, pushed deliberately to stop the iron taste of blood from filling his mouth, to his latest book. The restrictions, willingly accepted and still maintained — the mantra Billy lived by even now — meant he couldn’t work a traditional job, so his stories — once made only to make Goodnight smile, to see his eyes scrunch up into a mess of wrinkles at the corner, grin wide enough that it threatened to split his face in two — became how Billy survived. 

His editor, the face of the entire operation although Billy had never met him in person, had sent him a series of increasingly concerned emails, deadlines beginning to loom on the horizon. And yet, Billy couldn’t find it in himself to match Sam’s worried energy. Twisting his plots round and round in his head, Billy lit the stove, gas clicking as it turned over before igniting with a soft whoosh, kettle already filled and waiting.

The salt water was cold against his skin, shocking every thought from his mind. Billy blinked in the darkness, slowly crouching down, heart lodged in his throat. He had to be still dreaming, and yet this felt painfully real. Clouds slipped across the moon and, for a moment, everything was illuminated in bright silver light. Numbly, Billy’s eyes followed the path of wet footprints from the door — he hadn’t locked it, couldn’t bear the thought of Goodnight trying to get to him and failing — to the door of his bedroom, and then back again. On the small table, resting next to his laptop, and still damp to the touch, was a knife, scales clinging to the handle.

⁂

“Can I drive?”

Billy dropped the boat’s speed before turning to look at Red. The boy fidgeted slightly under his gaze, tugging at his hoodie sleeves. He looked as tired as Billy felt, deep shadows of purple beneath his eyes.

“Sure, why not?” Billy shrugged, checking the river ahead of them — wide and empty, a slight curve as the river wound through the countryside — and stood up, cracking his neck as he did so. 

Red wavered for only a moment — as the youngest, he likely wasn’t given many chances to drive, especially given Jack’s protective streak — before slipping into the driver’s seat.

“Accelerator here, reverse there. My boat engine is stronger than yours so be gentle. Shout if you need anything,” Billy said, pointing to each component with mechanical precision, watching Red nod seriously, fingers flexing on the wheel. Billy flopped onto the sofa, springs groaning beneath his weight, and pulled his laptop towards him, exhausted but unable to rest so he may as well work. It would keep Sam happy, and less likely to act upon his threat to come down and meet Billy in person. 

“Thank you.”

Billy blinked, feeling the dryness of his eyes, the ache in the back of his neck. A few hours had passed in a blur of typing, sun hanging low in the sky.

“You’re welcome?” Billy replied, rubbing at his eyes, creating a kaleidoscope of colours.

“Dad never lets me drive,” Red said with a sly grin, carefully slowing the boat down as he approached the corner, tongue clamped between his teeth as he focused.

“And Vasquez is always bugging me about who I’m texting all the time,” he continued, relaxing back into the seat.

“It’s no trouble. The company is nice,” Billy said, moving towards the stove top, “Want a drink?”

“Got any beer?”

Billy gave the back of Red’s head a flat stare, the boy’s shoulders quaking with muffled laughter.

“Pop, then.”

He caught it easily, a slow languid stretch of his arm. Red drummed his fingers against the top of the can, bracing it between his knees to pop the top open, throat bobbing as he downed it.

“Your knife is cool,” Red said as Billy set the kettle to boil once more, thoughts slow and stagnant as he considered his answer.

“It was a gift, from my ex… my ex-fiancé.”

Billy traced his fingers over the handle, feeling the nicks in the wood from Goodnight’s claws, the smoothness of water worn wood, bleached white by the sun. A quick glance at Red and Billy’s suspicions were confirmed. The teenager wasn’t as loudly expressive as Vasquez — the boy had an opinion on everything and you would hear it — but Billy could read the curiosity radiating off of him, tugging on his sleeves and drumming his fingers against the wheel.

“You can ask,” Billy offered, words almost catching in his throat, “But I might not answer.”

He busied himself with making his coffee — the last one of the day he promised himself, knowing his words to be a lie — ignoring the storm brewing in his mind, the questions he could almost sense racing through Red’s mind.

“Why a knife?”

“I like knives.”

Red nodded and the fist clenched around Billy’s heart lessened slightly. Red, for all that he was adopted, emulated Jack in many ways, his tendency towards silence being one of them. His almost uncanny way of picking up on what went unspoken in conversations was another.

“How long ago was it?”

Billy sighed, sipping at his coffee without tasting it fully. “Twelve years tomorrow.”

The words tasted sour in his mouth. It had only meant to be eight years, eight months and eight days. That was the sentence Billy had promised to serve, had promised through choking mouthfuls of his own blood as the world ended around them. 

But eight years, eight months and eight days had passed. And Billy was still alone, alone and waiting. He hadn’t felt hope in years, and it’s touch was unfamiliar to him now, but it was there.

“Why did you break up?”

Billy met Red’s gaze, a flush spreading across his cheeks as he reconsidered his words, eyes wide with growing horror.

“Sorry,” Red muttered, and Billy shrugged in response, sitting back down and waiting.

“In your new book, is Ku Myung-Dae going to be okay?”

Billy laughed and the conversation moved on, but his fingers remained tracing the memory of Goodnight’s touch on his knife.

  
  


⁂

Billy groaned, tipping his head back against the back of the sofa, pressing his hands into his eyes. Red had, inadvertently, stirred up old memories and old hopes. Billy’s thoughts wandered, but always returned to the same thing: the promise Billy had made.

To save Goodnight from death, just as he had saved Billy, Billy had sworn to not set foot on land for eight years, eight months and eight days. 

Goodnight had begged him not to, hair wild and free in the water, while Billy was held above. The ocean twisted and distorted his features, tears clinging to his cheeks for only a moment before they were ripped away, but he had never looked more beautiful. Goodnight raised himself up, Billy leant down. Their final kiss was short and desperate, Goodnight’s hands cupping Billy’s face, claws drawing blood, cuts burning in the salt water. The edges of the scales were rough against Billy’s skin, nose bumping together as they both pushed against their bonds. Goodnight’s teeth sunk into Billy’s lip, possessive, and then he was gone, pulled back down into the depths that had nearly claimed Billy only moments ago.

He could have told Red that Goodnight’s parents didn’t agree with him marrying Billy. They didn’t agree with their only surviving child wanting to give up his fins to stay with a human, and they made their thoughts clear on that day.

“What the sea wants, the sea takes,” Billy murmured to the silent room, running his hands through his hair, catching the hair tie before it fell into the small gap between the sofa and the wall and disappeared from him forever. That day, the sea had wanted Billy, and Goodnight saved him. By the laws of his people, Goodnight was to die for that betrayal, and Billy had saved him.

And then Goodnight had abandoned him.

⁂

Billy stretched out with the hook, pulling and tugging at the rope, biting back curses beneath his breath. The heat seemed to compress him, the air still and muggy around him filled with the tiny dancing bodies of midges, crawling over every available surface, moving over his skin. 

With a final grunt, the rope came free from the mooring, and Billy swung the hook back up onto the roof, grabbing the rope before it fell into the water. It was rough against his hands, slightly damp from the morning dew.

Raised voices caused him to pause, catching both ends to the rope to hold his boat still. The sound echoed strangely, Billy’s head quirking to one side as he listened closer. 

Red threw the back door of Horne’s boat open, kicking it closed behind him with a slam. Colour was high on his cheeks, hands clenched into trembling fists but his head was held high, almost as if he was daring Billy to mock him for the glimmer of unshed tears in his eyes.

“If you get the other rope, you can drive again,” Billy offered, jerking his head towards it. 

Red nodded once, easily scrambling up onto the bank, rocks crunching beneath his boots as he moved out of Billy’s line of sight. Horne’s face appeared in the window, curtain raised with a careful hand before he nudged the door open.

“If it’s any bother—” 

Billy cut him off with a wave of his hand. “It’s no problem. He’s a good kid.”

Horne smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, gazing past Billy to the crouched form of his youngest.

“Here’s his phone. Thank you, Billy.”

Billy stretched out, carefully to take a tight grip on the phone — screen broken into a spiderweb of cracks, tiny shards flaking off against his fingers since he last saw Red yesterday — and slipped it into his own pocket as Horne slipped silently back into his boat.

“Ready?” Billy called, taking the hook back up, and, as a unit, he and Red pushed the boat away from the side, and were out into the open water.

  
  


“Why do you always wear them?” 

Billy glanced up from the map, pen cap — already littered with the imprints of his teeth — clamped between his teeth. Red raised one hand and waved his wrist at Billy, the charms on his bracelet knocking together, before his hand clamped back down on the wheel, body going still.

“What is it?”

Billy stood and peered over Red’s shoulder. The water was calm, only disturbed by the passage of the boat, white ripples slowly disappearing into the horizon.

Red shook his head. “Nothing, it was nothing.”

Billy pulled at the leather cuffs, shifting them against his skin. The knot held tight, lacing worn and faded with age, but slowly it gave way. Billy pulled it down just enough to bare the pale scars on pale skin — the majority rested just in the hollow beneath his thumb, more scar there than skin — before he refastened the cuff around his wrist with quick mechanical motions.

“Are you going to be okay?” Red asked, worry clear on his face, eyes darting between Billy’s wrists and his face.

“I am okay,” Billy said softly, “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“My dad is worried about you,” Red said, shifting up on the bench so Billy could sit down next to him, feet tapping out a frantic pace against the wood.

“He doesn’t need to worry about me either,” Billy replied slowly, warmth spreading through his chest, unable to keep the small smile from his face.

⁂

Twelve years were drawing to close. Billy pulled the blanket — stitches between the patches fraying slightly, but he refused to give it up — tighter around his shoulders, and stared out on to the dark water. He was the only person for miles, having dropped Red off earlier that afternoon, Horne drawing him into a tight hug when he did so. He offered to save a space for Billy at the moorings, but he had declined, seeking solitude for tonight.

A bird called from far away, a second joining the call before silence fell once again. Clouds gathered in the sky, promising rain over the next few days, a welcome break to the oppressive heat; but it also obscured the world around him. Billy sighed, twisting the knife round and round in his hands, point digging into the meat of one thumb but not hard enough to draw blood.

Goodnight should have been by his side through everything, and even now, Billy would catch himself turning to look for him, longing to hear his voice. 

A faint splash caught his attention, something unseen slipping through the water, waves knocking against the side of the boat sending it rocking faintly. Billy leant forward, blanket slipping from his shoulders, peering out into the gloom. 

It happened so slowly he thought he was imagining it, a pale shape rising from the depths, and yet Billy knew this wasn’t a dream. Goodnight was just as breathtaking as Billy remembered, water clinging to his skin and scales shining in the faint moonlight.

“Hi darling.”

Goodnight’s voice was hoarse, but his smile was the same, revealing pointed teeth, Billy’s heart threatening to stop beating completely. 

“It’s good to see you again.”

Billy leant down to kiss him, feeling those teeth nip at his lips, rough scales rub against his cheeks, and felt tears run down his face, tasting salt once more. 

**Author's Note:**

> [ My Tumblr!](https://inkformyblood.tumblr.com) Requests are always welcome!  
> The twelve years vs eight is due to Goodnight being in his own head about things, plus mermaid politics ^^;


End file.
